


The Boy with Unruly Dark Curls

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, i don't know?, kind of a coffee shop type thing, more of a friendship, only not a romance, the reader becomes friends with teen!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not entirely sure what this is. I thought the whole coffee shop romance thing was a bit overdone so I wrote a coffee shop friendship between Sherlock and the reader.</p><p>EDIT: DEAR GOD PLEASE SAVE ME FROM MY 12 YO MARY SUE PAST i shall leave this up for posterity's sake though please heaven knows why. it would be a huge favour to me if you don't read this</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy with Unruly Dark Curls

**Author's Note:**

> Urm, there are mentions of drug abuse and all. That's about it I think.  
> So, enjoy.

You have an hour to kill before the bus to your small village comes.Why you chose a sixth form that was only accessible by such erratic bus routes you momentary forget and you consider what to do for the next hour of the next two years.

The coffee shop has a window that looks out on to the street and a thin ledge with bar stools along it. Good for watching, you decide. You order a hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows (just this once) and sit next to a boy with unruly dark curls. He goes to the local all boys public school and the two of you sit what seems rather like companionable silence, as though the fact you have never exchanged a word or even seen each other before pays no consequence. He is typing on a laptop and you a writing in a notebook. The shop closes at five, giving you enough time to comfortably catch the bus home. You both leave at five, when the shop closes, in silence.

...................................................................................................................................................................................

The next day the boy is there again. You order a hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows (it’s been a long day) and sit next to the boy with unruly dark curls. He is typing on a laptop and you are writing in a notebook. You both leave at five, when the shop closes.

...................................................................................................................................................................................

The next day continues just as the first two. And the next. And the next and so on until it has been twelve days since you started sixth form. You are sat next to the boy with unruly dark curls, drinking hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows (you’ll take up running to justify it) when the boy ceases typing and you cease writing.

«He is on his way to meet his girlfriend who, unbeknownst to him, is cheating on him with his wife.» You follow his gaze to a man tying his shoelaces outside the coffee shop window, «His son is cheating on his closeted boyfriend with his,» He gestured to the man standing up now from tying his shoelaces, «girlfriends daughter. Quite a love triangle, wouldn't you say ?» You smile and turn to look at a woman in a phone box.

«She has recently left her husband, possibly because her boyfriend of three years, most likely because of his long hours» you say, «She has a two year old son who her husband believes is his. It’s not. She has just found out her sister has died and that she has been left with all her gambling debts, as a result she is being forced to sell her only family heirloom. I’d say she is in a worse situation, especially as her husband is going to find out that the son is not his in the next three hours forty minutes.» You grin at him, two can play at that game. He smiles at you, it’s genuine but slightly off, as though he’s not used to contorting his face in such a manner, which, you figure, he’s not.

You fall back into comfortable silence. He resumes typing on a laptop and you resume writing in a notebook. You both leave at five, when the shop closes.

.................................................................................................................................................................................

You don’t talk again for just over a month, but the boy with unruly dark curls is always there typing on a laptop and you are there also, writing in a notebook.

«If you don’t want your brother to notice, you might want to change your socks,» He looks at you as if to say how did you know? You look back across your hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows (you deserve it, you’ll figure out why later) as if to say well it’s bloody darn obvious, even if it wasn't for the tract marks. And you really do need to change your socks if you don’t want your immensely intelligent and observant brother to realise you lied about giving up.

He takes off his socks and you both leave at five, when the shop closes.

...................................................................................................................................................................................

You wipe away a few stray tears. Compose yourself. Breathe. You walk around the corner and catch sight of yourself in a shop window. No evidence that you've been crying what so ever. You walk into your coffee shop and order a hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows (if you couldn't have one today, when could you?) The boy with unruly dark curls doesn't even look up from his typing but when you finish your cream he scoops his own on to your hot chocolate and passes you the two marshmallows he has left.

«She said she needed a fresh start.» You croak, your voice cracking, «Didn't want me in her new life, said it was never serious between us any way. Just fun. I could have sworn you couldn't get more serious than I love you but it never crossed my mind that someone could lie about that,» You mutter. He stops typing on a laptop and you never started writing in a notebook. You sit in silence until you both leave at five, when the shop closes.

...................................................................................................................................................................................

He is shaking when you walk in. You order a hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows (you’ll start a fencing club or something) and sit down at your seat

«Your brother found your supply.» It’s not a question. You walk to the till and buy an apple. You press into the boy with unruly dark curls’ palm. He looks at it. «Toss it from hand to hand,» You say. The boy does as you say as you go and get a used tray from an nearby table and bring it over to your ledge. «Tell me all you can about the people who were sat there.»

By five o’clock, the boy is calmer, still holding the apple firmly his hand, though it has ceased it’s tossing. He does not type on a laptop and you do not write in a notebook. You both leave at five, when the shop closes.

...................................................................................................................................................................................

The years spin by and soon it will have been two years since you first sat down next to the boy with unruly dark curls. You have only exchanged words on thirteen occasions but no other words were needed. You leave for uni in the morning. You know it’s a long shot but, even though it’s the holidays, you hope he’s there. The weather is aptly fitting, it’s a typical British summers day, i.e. it’s freezing and tipping it down. You walk in and see the empty seat. Damn it. You order a a hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows (you never did have it without) and write in a notepad and watch the people outside. The windows begins to mist up. You stand to leave at five, when the shop closes, when you see something in the corner of your eye. In the misted window there is a message,

«Hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows girl,

call, 07698181093. Her name’s Sammie Andrews »

...................................................................................................................................................................................

10 Years Later :

Dear Boy with Unruly Dark Curls

You are invited to the wedding of Samantha Carrie Andrews and Deirdre Elizabeth Wright 

Date: 9th May 2026

Time: 10 am-11pm

Place: Mickleberry Village Hall

RSVP 07698181093

 

Don’t you DARE THINK OF NOT COMING. You’re the reason this wedding is happening. Oh, yes, you may bring that Dr Watson you appear to have grown attached to. He seems like he’s good for you. By the way, love the blog.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the whole apple thing was a cabin pressure reference. This sort of came about due to insomnia, thanks insomnia! The number and things were made up, please don't call it.


End file.
